


The Longest Time

by st_mick



Series: He is the Sun... [9]
Category: Doctor Who (2005), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alzheimer's sucks, And Sharon Carter has NO place in my AU, Battle of New York, Capture and torture, Caregiver Fatigue, Drunk Thor and Steve are awesome, Grief/Mourning, I never liked General Ross, Multi, Old friends passing away, Rory gets the better of a fixed point... in his own way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-08-03 09:19:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16323503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/st_mick/pseuds/st_mick
Summary: Rory navigates the Battle of New York as best he can.  Tony rediscovers old friends and invites them back into his life.  Rory's nursing skills and love are put to the test by a terrible diagnosis.  General Ross takes advantage of Peggy's death, and King T'Challa offers sanctuary to all.





	1. One Does What One Can

Rory found himself training with Steve regularly, realizing he needed to improve his strength and physical endurance by a significant degree, for the coming battle.  He spent the remainder of 2011 training, trying to pass it off as a new hobby and working to let no one see his grim resolve.

Of course, Peggy saw through this.  She remembered well Rory’s confidence, all those years ago.  Steve would be found in 2011, and New York would be invaded in 2012.  She knew he would speak to her, and sensing his anxiety, she called on all of her patience.

Finally, in March, Rory sat down with Peggy and Angie.  “I need for you two to start sorting through your things.  We’ll need to pack and store what you are not willing to lose.”

“Oh, thank God.  Can we finally talk about this, now?” Angie sighed.

Peggy and Rory both stared.

“Oh, please.  Do you think Tim would not tell me something as important as this?” she smirked.

Rory shook his head and grinned.  “And you remember, I assume,” he took Peggy’s hand.

“I was waiting for you to say something, but the way you’ve been behaving, it’s obviously soon.”

“We still have some time, yet,” he hedged.  “Angie, can you and Meg go stay with Sadie, in Vermont?”

“Of course, I’ll call her in the morning,” Angie said.  She thought it would be nice to visit her youngest.  The other two were in Houston and Seattle, so she knew her kids would be safe from whatever was brewing.

“Can’t you…” Peggy caught herself.  She knew he couldn’t warn Fury. 

“Part of my uneasiness in the past month or two has been because this is fixed.  I mean, I knew, because the Doctor took all of us away, the first time around.  He told us when we got back that it was a fixed point.”  He sighed.  “I encouraged Fury with his pet project, but…”

“The Avengers Initiative?” Peggy scoffed.

“It’s a good idea,” Rory said quietly.  “And it will work.  But – as usual – not in any logical or easy way.  The whole thing fell apart, but I can only assume he’ll circle back to it.”

“So we need to pack, but without anyone knowing?” Angie asked.

“I’m sorry, but yes,” Rory said.  “Fury is much less understanding of my inability to interfere than Meg was,” he took Peggy’s hand and kissed it.

“He’s watching us?” Angie looked indignant. 

Peggy merely looked resigned.  “Yes, but not obtrusively.  He was very angry when we went away in 2007.  He promised me nothing would take him by surprise, again.”  She looked at Rory.  “Do you think he’s noticed your training regimen?”

Rory shrugged.  “Maybe, but I’ve been spending a lot of time with Steve anyway, so training with him isn’t really that much of a leap.”

Rory told them that he did not know that their apartment would be destroyed, but he wasn’t willing to allow his girls to face such a total loss.  Peggy and Angie spent the month going through a lifetime of belongings and memories and distilling them into what could easily be taken out in Rory’s messenger bag, to be boxed up and stored at a facility upstate.

The only sizeable item that Peggy and Rory were unwilling to leave behind was their wing chair.  Throughout their marriage, they had ended most days with Peggy sitting in Rory’s lap as he sat in the chair.  Whenever they needed to have an important conversation, or reconnect in any way, that chair was where they did so. 

Even now, after all these years…  Rory smiled fondly at his wife.  Still fierce, still beautiful.  He loved her more than ever, and he tried very hard to avoid thinking about the future.  He wanted to see Amy and the Doctor and Jack, _so_ badly.  But he was not ready to let go of his Meg.

They found a furniture refurbisher somewhere upstate and sent the chair along.  It had been reupholstered several times, and completely rebuilt at least once, so it was not something out of the ordinary, though perhaps the use of a furniture maker outside of the city might be seen as a bit odd.

By the end of April, all of their clothing, valuables, and sentimental belongings were stored away.  On the second day of May, he put them on a train to Vermont.  Peggy had his messenger bag.  For the first time since Canton retired, Rory was glad that he and Ellis had moved to New Jersey.

Rory had also spent a great deal of time and money renting a warehouse and stockpiling medical supplies, and on large moving trucks, which he then stocked as mobile first aid stations.  He left them parked around the city, wracking his brains to remember where the most damage would be.  Peggy had helped him to find places to park the trucks, and he spent the next two days moving them into position.

The fourth day of May dawned bright and clear, with no indication of how different the world would be, by the time the sun set.  At lunch, Rory was sure to eat a solid meal that would sustain him through the day.  He had a couple of energy bars tucked into his fatigues, in case there was a moment to spare.

He had ensured that the harness Howard had given him for his sword was still sturdy, and then added breakaway loops that would hold high capacity magazines for his pistol.  Each magazine held seventeen rounds of ammunition for his Glock 19 pistol, which was more compact than his old Browning. 

The harness held forty magazines, and the shoulder holster for his pistol carried two more.  He had another twenty magazines stowed in various pockets of his fatigues.  He knew he would sacrifice mobility if he tried to carry more.  He had a smaller Glock 26 in an ankle holster (with yet another mag) as a backup.  If he lost the 19, the 26 could still use the same mags.

Well over a thousand rounds, and he wasn’t even certain they would stop these creatures.  He could only hope.  If all else failed, he had found that most things couldn’t withstand a beheading, and his sword was sharper than it had been since Dacia or Demon’s Run.

He donned a jacket and made his way to Stark Tower, knowing it would start there.  Sure enough, around mid-afternoon he saw Tony come in for a faltering landing, and about ten minutes later, he came plummeting over the side of the building, giving Rory a heart attack before he was caught by one of his suits and flew back up, again.  In the next moment, a hole opened up in the sky.

Rory began trying to get people to cover.  He was still herding a group into a sturdy building with a deep sub-basement when he saw one of the Quinjets coming in hot.  He ran to where it crashed and pulled the emergency release for the bay door.

Two guns and an arrow were pointed at him.  He held up his hands and said, “Oi, it’s me!”

They gave him one look and various degrees of exasperation and resignation crossed their features.

“Can I shoot him, just a little bit?” Clint looked like hell.  Rory wondered what had happened.

“Whatever has already happened, I didn’t know anything about it,” he said, lifting his hands in surrender.

“Phil’s dead,” Clint said, his voice hard.

Rory hung his head.  Back to being the villain, then.

“You try to stop this type of thing, it makes it worse, right?” Natasha asked.

Rory nodded.  “That’s why my younger self isn’t here with the Doctor and Jack.  He actually took us off planet, for this.  We didn’t know anything about it, until we returned.”

Steve nodded.  “Enough of this.  We need to start getting people to safety.”

Rory nodded.  Natasha tossed him an earbud.  He put it in and shrugged out of his jacket before running off.  If it was one thing he knew how to do, it was move people out of the way of mad aliens.  He grinned as the first adrenaline(ish) rush kicked in.

***

Rory was pulled closer into the eye of the storm as his marksmanship proved an asset to the team.  Steve noted that he wasn’t fighting the skill, now.  He wondered briefly if it was acceptance or resignation to the necessity.

Tony landed and was surprised to find a Chitauri directly before him.  Its head exploded in the next instant.  He looked around and saw a man who looked vaguely familiar.  He had a sword in his left hand, parrying a thrust by a Chitauri’s staff even as he continued to fire the pistol in his right hand almost continuously. 

“Uncle Gramps?” he asked incredulously.

“Later,” Rory took down the one he had been fighting and ran towards the next hot spot.

Tony shook his head, disorientated.  He hadn’t seen Aunt Peggy or Uncle Gr… Uncle Rory since before high school.  This man was _exactly_ the same.  How could that be?

He was forced to forget the question as the battle drew him back in.

***

Rory took a blast to the chest that threw him several meters in the air.  He landed in a heap and was immediately beset by three Chitauri.  He let out a string of Roman epithets completely unsuitable for an open com line as he threw one off of him and shot his way out of the dogpile.

“Wait.  Who was that?” Tony came on the coms.  “Who the hell curses in Latin?”

“You all right Gramps?” Clint asked, a grin in his voice.

“Bene sum,” Rory gritted, staggering to the next hotspot.  Definitely at least one rib broken.  “Shit.  I’m fine.  You?”

“Running low on arrows.  Shame we didn’t know this was going down, or anything.”

“Tony dropped you on the Campari building, yeah?” Rory grinned.

“Yeeeesss,” Clint drawled, unsure how Rory knew that.

“Yeah, well.  Guess what I actually remembered?”  Rory stopped for a moment and took a drink from the last bottle of water he’d stowed in his fatigues.  “Check under the air handler.”

“Son of a bitch!” Clint whooped a minute later.

He’d just found the stash of a few hundred more arrows that Rory had hidden there.

***

The team was enjoying shawarma, coming down off of the adrenaline high when every cell phone in the place went off.  Tony pulled out his phone.  “Someone has hijacked the emergency broadcast system,” he said, looking puzzled.

The message gave the locations of twenty mobile first aid stations set up throughout midtown. 

“Who the hell hacked…” Tony began typing furiously on his phone.  “Oh, hell no!”  He looked murderous.

“What?” Steve frowned.  How could first aid stations be a bad thing?

“The signal tracks back to Stark Tower,” Tony growled. 

Blank looks around the table.

“No one hacks me, goddammit,” he snarled.  As if this day hadn’t been bad enough.

“Wait, how could there be manned first aid stations set up, already?” Bruce asked.

Natasha smiled.  “He couldn’t prevent it, but he was damned well going to help, after the fact.”

Clint and Steve looked at her, then started nodding.

“Care to clue in the rest of us?” Tony snapped.

Natasha got up wearily.  “C’mon.  He’ll be at the busiest one.”

The others followed her and they made their way about ten blocks down, closest to where the worst of the battle had been.  There were two large trailers parked there.  A nurse bustled past, speaking to another.  “Lucky we were doing disaster preparedness drills today.  God knows how many people wouldn’t have made it to the hospitals.”

Rory was still in his filthy fatigues.  He still wore his sword, shoulder and ankle holsters.  He had run out of ammo about a half hour before the Chitauri fell.  That had quite possibly been the longest thirty minutes of his life as he continued fighting with his sword.  He’d figured out the Chitauri’s blasting weapons, but he started drawing friendly fire and had to discard it.

Now he had transitioned to nurse.  Well, technically, doctor.  But he preferred nurse.  He had triaged for two hours until the nurse assisting him knew how to assess and prioritize the wounded.  Now he had a pair of gloves on, though blood contamination was the least of anyone’s worries, this day.  He finished stitching up a little boy’s leg when he felt... something…

They watched him cock his head and straighten before turning, looking for the watching eyes that had made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.  He spotted the Avengers, looking around as though in shock.  Which they likely were.  He opened a cooler and pulled out a six pack of drinks heavily laden with sugar and electrolytes.  “Drink,” he ordered, tossing the six pack their way and turning to the next patient.

Three patients later, he turned to the next, and stopped short.  The little blond girl had a gash on her forehead.  The bleeding had stopped, and her brother, whose leg Rory had just stitched, was holding her hand.  “Hello, Sweetheart,” he said, his voice faltering.  “I’ll be right with you, okay?”

He turned and rushed past the group, snatching the drink out of Thor’s hand.  He jumped out of the trailer and gulped down the drink as the others followed.

“You all right?” Natasha asked.

Rory took a great, staggered breath, then finished the drink.  He pulled the gloves off and scrubbed his face.  His hands, which had been rock steady as he’d treated the patients, were shaking.  Steve gave his shoulder a squeeze.  He remembered well the little blond girl that Rory had almost killed himself, saving. 

“Some memories stay fresh,” he said.

Rory nodded.  Then he sighed, straightened, and visibly steeled himself as he headed back into the trailer.

“Hold up,” Tony put a hand out to stop him.  “Did you hack me?”

***


	2. After the Battle, And Then After That

Rory did not leave the trailer until the supplies were gone and the last patient was treated or sent on to the hospital.  It had been five days, and he had not slept.  He had hardly eaten.  The others came – sometimes individually, sometimes in pairs, once in a group.  He refused to leave.

Bruce had helped for a while.  So had the others, where they could.  With gentle hands and a healer’s touch, Rory had patched up Thor’s stab wound and seen to everyone else’s cuts and bruises.  He had not allowed anyone to look him over.

“I suppose you think of this as penance,” he heard a lovely, poshly accented voice late in the afternoon on the fifth day.  All of the others were there.  He was being so stubborn, they were all annoyed enough that their primary motivation was a mild curiosity as to when he might fall over from exhaustion.

Rory turned and saw Peggy.  “Meg, what are you doing here?” he said, his protective fierceness perking him up.  “It’s not safe here!”

Peggy paused next to Tony and patted his cheek.  “Your father would be proud of you, Dear,” she said in a quiet voice.  She nodded to Steve, who returned the greeting hesitantly, wondering now why he’d stayed away.

She stood tall and unbowed by age.  Her hair was now more silver than dark, but she wore ninety-one years with warm beauty and an exceptional dignity that was wrapped around her like a cloak.

Tony’s eyes were wide as he finally received confirmation that this man was indeed the same one who had been among the closest friends of both his father and his surrogate father.  “How?” he asked weakly.  He had been determined not to actually ask, because it had been too insane to consider. 

Steve, Clint and Natasha were all speaking in some strange code and had not explained anything to anyone else.  The only thing the man had said for himself was to thank Tony for the use of Stark Tower to send out the emergency broadcast, because it made the most sense for Stark to have been the one to mobilize help, after the attack.  Realizing that he would be given credit for saving the day twice, Tony had clammed up.

Now, Peggy strode up to her husband and wrapped her arms around him and finally he seemed to drop whatever steely resolve that had been keeping him going.  When she released him, his knees gave way and he leaned against her, his arms around her waist and his head against her stomach as she ran her hands through his filthy hair. 

“You haven’t stopped this whole time, have you?” her voice was heavy with sorrow.

“Phil’s dead,” he said.

“Oh, Rory,” she groaned. 

“It’s my fault,” he whispered.

“You stop that, this instant,” she stepped back as her temper flared, and everyone got a glimpse of what Agent Carter had been like, in her glory years.  “This is Loki’s fault.  Not yours.”

“How do you know of Loki?” Thor asked, confused.  Who was this oldling?

“The things I know would curl those lovely locks of yours,” Peggy’s eyes flashed.

Rory gave a weak smile.

“I think it’s time for some answers,” Tony was ready to put his foot down.  “Everyone back to Stark Tower.  Now.  Fury and Hill will be joining us.”

“Isn’t it a bit worse for wear?” Peggy asked.  Natasha had flown past the building when bringing her in.

“There are several floors of living quarters, a dozen stories below the damaged levels,” Tony replied.  “They are intact, and the building is sound.  You’re welcome to stay, Aunt Peggy.”  He smiled, realizing that he had always loved his honorary aunt, and he was damned glad that she was back in his life.

It took them another hour and the last of the supplies running out to persuade Rory to shut down the unit.  He was silent as they walked the dozen or so blocks to Stark Tower.  On the second day, Natasha had persuaded him to give her his weapons and holsters, hoping it would make him more comfortable.  He had also shed all but the black t-shirt he’d been wearing under the layers of Kevlar and fabric. 

Bruce had attempted to examine him but had been courteously rebuffed.  At least they could tell that he seemed largely uninjured, though he was not moving with his usual grace.

As they walked, he felt the extent of his exhaustion.  But Peggy was on his arm, so everything would be okay.

Maybe.

Eventually.

He looked around at the new cityscape.  He knew it would be rebuilt, knew it would be all right.  But right now, it seemed hopeless.  Clint had informed him on one of the early days that their apartment building was gone.  He was sorry for that.  It had been their home for more than six decades.  How would he tell Peggy?

When they got to the living quarters Tony was using, he grabbed Rory by the arm and took him across the hall, to another.  “You _really_ need a shower,” he said.  “Pepper and Happy are cooking, so once you get some food in you, we can talk.”

Rory nodded.  Then he turned back.  He needed clothing.

“I brought this,” Peggy said, following them into the quarters with his messenger bag.  He gave her a tired smile that was so full of love that Tony suddenly felt as though he was intruding on a private moment rather than a simple thank you.  He left them.

Peggy stayed with Rory, helping him out of his grimy clothing.  She was appalled by the bruises.  It took a very long time for him to scrub a week’s worth of battle and blood and dirt off.  At least, it took a long time for him to feel even remotely clean.

Once he was cleaned up, he looked even more dreadful.  At least the dirt had been hiding some of the exhaustion and heartsickness he had been feeling.  As they re-entered Tony’s quarters, the others seemed to see this, as well. 

“You all right, Gramps?” Clint asked.

“I’m always all right,” he quipped, but his heart wasn’t in it.  He spotted a wing chair and collapsed into it.  He hadn’t let go of Peggy’s hand and he pulled her onto his knee, a movement that was clearly a long-practiced habit.

Fury allowed a rare smile.  Maria and Pepper schooled their features as Tony raised an eyebrow and Steve looked carefully neutral.  Bruce looked befuddled.  Thor looked like he was about to ask a question, but Natasha kicked him and Clint grimaced at the obvious deflection.

“He wouldn’t let me check, but I’m fairly certain he has a few cracked or broken ribs,” Peggy said.  Rory just leaned his head back.

“All right.  Enough.  Let me see,” Bruce stood, and he was making it clear that he would not take no for an answer, this time. 

“In a minute, please,” Rory said, his voice weak and tired.

“Fine.  Sit.  And tell us, what the hell.”  Tony’s patience had run out.

Once more, Rory told his story.  Rome.  The Pandorica.  The Waverider.  The Weeping Angels.  By the time he was done, the food was ready.  As they ate, more questions came.

Thor had actually heard of Gallifrey and the Time War.  And the Oncoming Storm.

“Don’t call him that,” Rory said quietly.

“And you two have been married for…” Pepper looked curiously from one to the other.

Rory smiled at Peggy.  He lifted her hand to his lips.  “Sixty-two years, this week.”

“This week?”

“The fourteenth,” Peggy dragged her eyes from Rory and smiled at Pepper.

“So I guess that gets awkward at dinner parties,” Tony quipped.

Rory turned his head slowly to him.  “What does?” he asked, his voice innocent but his eyes flashing dangerously.

“Explaining how a loser like you bagged a hot cougar,” Tony backpedaled. 

Peggy snorted as the others laughed.  Rory gave Tony a long look before letting it drop.

As they ate, the questions became more pointed.  “So you disappeared from 2016,” Tony said.

“Yeah, but we had traveled a couple years ahead.  My timeline only goes to April Fool’s Day, 2014.”

“Still.”  Tony looked at him.  “You knew this would happen.”

“That’s how you knew to set up the first aid stations.  And Clint’s arrows.”  Banner’s eyes were wide.  “That’s why she was talking about penance.”

Rory sighed.  He was too exhausted to explain.  So Steve did.  He explained about timelines and fixed points.  And about his own fixed point.  “If Rory had less integrity, then I probably wouldn’t have been here, for this,” he concluded.

“But you hate it here,” Tony blurted.

“I’m out of place, here,” Steve corrected.  “I don’t know it well enough to hate it.  And I miss my friends.” 

He looked at Peggy, who reached out and took his hand.  “Not all of us are gone, Steve.”

He shook his head sadly.  “I know.  It’s tough, is all.”

“So setting up those first aid stations, that’s not interfering?” Bruce asked.

Rory shrugged.  “I didn’t feel ill, setting them up, so I’m assuming not.  Preventing the battle wasn’t possible.  I got ill every time I even tried to nudge the Avengers Initiative along.”

“Specific actions in relation to fixed points make you ill now?” Peggy looked at him, frowning.  “That’s new.”

Everyone looked questioningly, and Rory shrugged.  “The fixed points themselves have always made me queasy.  It seems to be refining itself, now.  I feel more or less ill as I get closer to the things I shouldn’t try to change versus the things I can.”

“And how long has this been going on?” Peggy was looking a bit cross.

“It’s been so gradual, I didn’t really notice it.  But this was big enough for me to actually feel the difference.”

Peggy nodded, appeased.

Soon after dinner, Bruce and Peggy took Rory back across the hall.  Bruce checked Rory over and was appalled by the injuries that had gone untreated.  Rory was so exhausted he fell into a healing coma as soon as he lay down.

He woke two days later, on the mend, but extremely sore.  He discovered that Natasha had told Peggy about their apartment building, and Tony had offered them a place at Stark Tower.  “We can convert a couple of these units into a decent apartment for you two and Mrs. Dugan,” he said.

***

In the aftermath of the Battle of New York, Nick Fury moved SHIELD from its ruined headquarters in New York to Washington, DC.  Rory hated the idea.  “You’re too political, as it is,” he argued.

“Come see the new digs, some time,” Nick dismissed him.

Rory shook his head.  Something about this did not feel right, but Nick Fury owed him nothing.

Other than his life, that is.  They had saved one another numerous times, on missions in the early days.

But that’s how it goes.

***

Steve and Natasha moved to DC.  Clint returned home, coming in for missions and occasionally stopping by to visit.  He had eventually understood about the fixed point, and now he felt badly about the decisions his friend was forced to make, at times.

Rory spent a great deal of time with Clint, trying to help him come to terms with his actions while under Loki’s influence.  In time, Clint was able to process what had happened, and to begin the difficult task of forgiving himself.

***

In the summer of 2012, Ellis Jackson died.  Canton only survived his husband by a few months.  Rory had brought them to Stark Tower and nursed them both.  He tried to pay rent – both for his own apartment as well as Canton’s, but Pepper would not hear of it.

***

For Christmas that year, Tony gave Rory an unexpected present.  It looked like a leather wrist strap, but it converted into a lightweight gauntlet that used repulsor technology like that found in the gloves of his Iron Man suit, with its own power source.  “Unlimited firepower.  No more running around with dozens of clips.”  He rolled his eyes.  “I know, you don’t love the idea of a gun built into your hand, but c’mon, look at the tradeoff.  You already handle a gun like it _is_ built into your hand, and this has a nonlethal setting.”

***

In February of 2013, Angie fell on an icy sidewalk outside of Stark Tower.  She was recovering well from a broken hip when pneumonia took her.  Peggy was devastated.  Rory only slightly less so.

***

A few months after Angie died, Rory began to notice Peggy showing more than a normal level of forgetfulness.  After months of worsening symptoms and extensive tests, they met, with no little amount of dread, the doctor who diagnosed her with Alzheimer’s.

Rory took her home and changed her diet and began looking into alternative therapies.  Tony and Bruce and Pepper offered what support they could, which was the only thing that helped keep Rory from completely panicking.

Peggy spent a good deal of time through the end of the year writing letters and making arrangements of her own.  She called Natasha for assistance with some of her plans.

***

In early April of 2014, Steve visited.  He and Peggy had become good friends, once more, and he often visited both Rory and her.  But today he needed advice.  Though he knew about her illness, it was still a shock when Peggy forgot the seven decades that had interrupted their friendship, mid-conversation.

Within the week, SHIELD fell.  Peggy turned violent when she found out.  Rory was able to calm her, thankful for the many years’ practice of nudging into her mind to calm and reassure her.  Now he used this skill for the same purpose, as well as to help her sleep.  Early on, while she was still fully lucid, he had asked her permission to do this, when necessary, and had received loving appreciation for the offer, as well as the willingness to nudge into what was quickly becoming a frighteningly chaotic mind.

***

Tony had hired two nurses to help Rory during the day.  Peggy was always worse at night, and Rory insisted on being the one to take care of her, then.  He didn’t leave the apartment often, and even then he rarely left the building. 

A few days after SHIELD fell, Rory came home from lunch with Tony and Bruce to find a sight that chilled him.  As it turned out, one of the nurses was Hydra.  She stood to the side of the living room, holding a gun and smiling.  “I will be rewarded handsomely as the one who helped eliminate the famous Peggy Carter,” she sneered.  “And her boy toy.”

When SHIELD fell, so did many of its prisons.  And standing in their living room, with Peggy in a chokehold, was Uri Vostov.  He looked to be in his mid-eighties, and he held a gun trained on Rory. 

“What the hell are you?  You haven’t aged a day in over fifty years!”  Vostov moved the gun from Rory to Peggy. 

“You have got to be kidding me,” Rory said.  “JARVIS!”

“Not another word!” the old man wheezed.

Peggy was having a good day.  She looked Rory dead in the eye and gave an almost imperceptible nod.

“Oh, c’mon, Uri,” Rory gave an evil smile.  “How about just one more word?”

“Shoot him!” he cried.

Several things happened, next.  Peggy pushed Vostov’s gun up so it was no longer pointed at her head, Rory shouted, “Pandorica!”, and the nurse shot Rory, then turned her gun to Peggy.

That _really_ pissed him off.

He turned to her, and she looked on in horror as Vostov writhed on the floor and a man she had just shot at point blank range advanced on her.  He broke her neck before she could pull the trigger again.

Vostov had a heart attack and died three minutes in.

Rory stumbled to Peggy, who had suddenly become hysterical.  “You were brilliant,” he whispered, nudging into her mind and encouraging her to sleep.  Her eyes had barely shut when Tony, Bruce and Maria Hill entered the room.

“What the hell!” Tony exclaimed.

“She was Hydra,” Rory explained.  He also told them who Vostov was, though he said they’d have to look him up, because he really wasn’t up to explaining _that_.

Within minutes, the other nurse arrived, along with an orderly from a clinic on the tenth floor.  They quickly got Peggy cleaned up (Rory’s blood was now all over her) and put to bed.  Rory refused to leave the apartment, so Bruce, who had inherited the Gallifreyan physiology books, had to patch Rory up right there in the living room while Maria oversaw the removal of the bodies.

Tony retrieved a first aid kit as Bruce assessed the damage.  “It doesn’t look too serious,” he said hesitantly.  He used the antiseptic and put on a pair of gloves while Tony prepared a painkiller hypo spray.  Rory insisted on staying awake.

Using a scalpel, Bruce opened the wound.  “Is that…”

“My poor liver,” Rory gasped.  “…-ish.”  Poor thing really had taken more abuse than was reasonable.

“Liver-ish?” Tony smirked.  “Is it meant to be that color?”

“Oi!” Rory hissed.  “Be nice to my liver.  This is the second time it’s taken a bullet because of Uri bloody Vostov.”

Bruce was able to quickly extract the bullet and repair the damage to Rory’s sort-of-a-liver before using the antiseptic liberally and then stapling the wound closed.  Rory shocked them by getting shakily to his feet and going to check on Peggy.

“Sir, you’ll scare her,” the nurse said kindly.

Rory looked down.  He was covered in blood.  He went and took a shower before putting on a pair of track pants and grabbing a t-shirt.  He sat next to Peggy and took her hand.

“How’s my beautiful girl?” he asked as her eyes fluttered open.

“You were shot.”

“I’m fine, Love,” he smiled.  “I need to sleep, but everything is all right.  You’re safe.  We’ll keep you safe.”

“Vostov?” 

It was the first time Rory had ever seen her look frightened.  He thought it would break both his hearts, in one go.  “He’s dead, Love.  You’re safe.  I promise you.”  He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to hers.  He poured out all of his love and a fierce promise of protection, and she calmed.  Then he put her to sleep, once more.

He looked at the nurse as he stood unsteadily.  “She should sleep for about ten hours.  I don’t think I’ll be up by then, though.  I…”  Suddenly, he looked a bit lost.

“Leave her with us, Sir.  We’ll be fine.”

“Thank you,” he gave her a weary smile and walked over to the sofa, which was where he normally slept, now. 

Bruce came in and applied a bandage and a leech, then helped Rory put the t-shirt on.  Understanding his intention, the nurse brought a blanket and pillow to him, and Bruce helped him lie down.  Almost immediately, he fell into a coma.

***


	3. Taking Care of the Caregiver

“Meg!” Rory woke with a start, finding himself actually standing in the middle of their bedroom.  Too weak to stand, his legs gave way.  He was on all fours, but began rubbing his chest with his right hand.  “Brian,” he whispered, heaving a great sigh.  After a moment, he sat up on his heels and pulled up his shirt.  Removing the bandage, he saw that the wound was well on its way to healing, but it still hurt, quite a lot.

“Rory?” Meg’s voice was small and frightened.

“It’s all right, Love,” Rory took a deep breath and got to his feet, then walked on quivering legs to her bed. 

From long habit, she scooched over and made room for him to climb in, with her.  He settled in next to her, breathing through the discomfort and pulling her into his arms.  She snuggled next to him and sighed.  He kissed her head and sang some old song, though he felt dreadful.

***

“We shouldn’t be watching this,” Pepper said from the bank of screens in Tony’s lab.  Maria Hill shook her head, agreeing. 

“We really shouldn’t,” Tony concurred.  JARVIS had alerted them that Rory had awakened, but they could easily switch the monitors off, now.

Having just read the full report on Vostov and what had happened in 1960, they kept watching.

***

“You let her shoot you, so you could get Vostov,” Peggy said, her voice slightly scolding.

Rory kissed her head again.  “There was no other way, Love.”

“You could have let them have me.”

“Never.”

She sighed.  “You’re going to have to say goodbye to me someday, Rory.  Someday rather sooner than later, I think.”

“But that is not today,” he replied, holding her closer.  He closed his eyes.  “Please don’t leave me, Meg.”

“Oh, come now, my Dear.  You have a whole other family waiting for you, just a year away, now.”

“I don’t care,” he said stubbornly.  “That doesn’t mean I’m ready to give you up.”

“Greedy,” she chuckled, pulling away from him.  He reluctantly loosened his hold.  “Oh, you dear man,” she sighed.  She placed a hand between his hearts.  “I will always be with you.  You know that.”

“Meg,” Rory really was in no condition for this conversation.

“No, you have to hear me, Love.  You love _so_ hard, and you think you won’t be all right, but you will.”

“Meg, don’t you dare do this.  Not yet.”

“Then when?” she looked at him, clear-eyed.  “How much indignity must I suffer, before you are ready to let me go?”

“That’s really unfair.”  Rory got out of the bed and stalked around it.  He reached around and took the leech from his back and unceremoniously pulled down the sheet and lifted the back of her nightgown and placed it in the small of her back.

“What are you…” she protested.  “Jack was very clear,” she said, her voice rising, “Your first aid equipment is only for you.”

“Yeah, well… what Jack doesn’t know,” Rory snarked.  “I’ve let everyone I’ve nursed use this, Meg.  Why wouldn’t I give it to you?”

“But…”

“But what?  No one can have this technology; it’s too advanced.  But they gave it to me, trusting that it would not be abused, and it hasn’t been.”

He lowered her gown and pulled the sheet back up over her.  She rolled onto her back and he planted a hand on either side of her shoulders, leaning above her.  He looked at her a long moment.  “I will discuss this with you as much and as often as you would like.  But today is not the day.  Can we at least agree on that?”  He smiled.  “C’mon.  I was just shot.”

Peggy huffed, but she smiled.  Using the leech would ease many of her fears, at least regarding her physical deterioration.  They would have to discuss her mental decline, as well.  “Well.  For today, Love.”

Rory grinned and leaned down, giving her a proper snog.

***

Tony turned off the monitor.  Pepper had a hand over her mouth, tears in her eyes.  Maria looked pale.  “Did…  Did Gramps just talk her out of…?”

“Can’t say I’d make a different call.  That’s a hell of a diagnosis.”  Tony cleared his throat.  “The trick is getting the timing right.”

“Do you think… he’d help her?” Pepper asked hesitantly.

“He’d do anything for her,” Tony replied.  “But it would probably just about kill him, to do this.”

“For who to do what?” Bruce entered the room, looking curious.

“For Gramps to admit that his accent has slipped,” Tony didn’t miss a beat.

“I don’t think it has, though,” Bruce said.  “Is this another one of your bets?”

***

Steve and Natasha moved back to New York, along with Sam Wilson.  Steve and Sam were often gone, searching for Bucky Barnes.  Rory wished he could help, but he refused to leave Peggy for more than a few hours at a time.

Throughout 2014, Peggy still had more good days than bad.  Rory spent as much time with her as he could, and more often than not could be found sitting up in her bed, with her propped against him as he read to her or sang to her or told her stories of far-off places and times.

He began training with Steve and the others, mostly as an outlet.  They could see that Peggy’s illness was hard on him, but no one knew how to help.  Most of their support came in the form of laughter.  Tony gave him no end of guff for having more bruises from keeping house than he’d ever had from field work.

***

In April of 2015, Steve was visiting with Peggy when she became agitated.  Rory immediately appeared, and sat behind her, gently wrapping his arms around her.  Steve was reminded of how jugglers who juggled eggs caught them – with so much grace and gentleness that the eggs never broke.

Peggy’s arms were flailing, though, and in trying to catch one of them, Rory’s forearm came within her reach, and she bit him, hard enough to draw blood.  “Damn it, Meg,” he hissed.  He took a breath and leaned his head against hers, nudging his way in.  “Come on my Love,” he said, his voice gentle.  “Everything is all right.  You are safe.  I have you.  I love you, Dearest.  Shhhhh.  Sleep now, my Sweet.”

As he continued to speak to her, her bite slackened.  He looked at Steve and then at a napkin on her tea tray.  Understanding, Steve quickly tied the napkin around Rory’s arm.  Rory nudged back into her mind and put her to sleep.

He lay her back down and assessed the damage.  Blood had only gotten on her face and neck, but not in her hair.  Her gown was still clean, but her sheet and blanket were now bloodstained.  He quickly and gently washed her face and rinsed her mouth before placing a mint strip on her tongue so she would not wake up tasting blood. 

He pulled the sheet and blanket off of the bed and tossed them in the laundry chute before retrieving new ones.  Steve was still in shock from her violent turn, but somehow he noticed that her toenails were painted bright crimson.  There was something heartbreaking about that, because he just knew that Rory had painted her nails for her.

Rory came back and had her bed remade in no time.  Only then did he grab his first aid kit and clean the rather horrific looking bite wound with antiseptic.  He applied some anesthetic/antibiotic ointment before bandaging the wound.  He kissed Peggy on the forehead and then stepped into the hallway.

Steve followed.  As he began to pull the door shut, Rory said quietly, “Leave it open, please.  I need to hear, if she wakes.”

He slid down the wall and was sitting wearily on the floor, holding his arm.  He looked forlorn.  Steve felt as though he’d never actually understood the meaning of that word, until now.  He sighed.

“You know, I was jealous of you, when I first woke up.  All those years you got to have with her.  But I know you love each other.  And I don’t think I could do for her, what you’ve been doing.” 

Rory did not respond.

Steve sat next to Rory and looked at him.  “We really have no idea what you’ve been going through, have we?  I mean, you’re right here, in this building.  We see you almost every day, and you have not let us see any of this.”

“She’s not Meg, when she does this,” he said quietly, looking at his arm.  “No one should have to know that Meg isn’t always Meg anymore,” his voice broke.  “I’m losing her, Steve.  Inch by inch.  For a long time, there were more good days than bad.  But I can feel the tide turning.  It’s about fifty-fifty, right now.  And I’m not complaining.  I will take every good _minute_ I can get.  But…” he trailed off before slumping.  “I’m losing her.”

Steve put his arm around Rory, who leaned against him and allowed himself, just for a moment, to rest against his friend and be held.  He was exhausted.  And his arm hurt like hell.  And it really hurt his feelings that Meg bit him, even though he _knew_ she couldn’t help it.  And she would be appalled, if he ever allowed her to know what she’d done, which he never would.

After a few minutes, he leaned away again, wiping the tear or two that had escaped.  “Sorry,” he said awkwardly, but then he saw that Steve was wiping his eyes, as well. 

“Call one of her nurses to come watch her sleep, and join us for dinner.  Bring one of those strange bottles with you.  See if we can get Thor tipsy.  C’mon, Rory.  You need a night off, so you can keep doing this.”

Rory nodded.  The first rule of caregiving is to take care of yourself.  And he had not done that, in a very long time.  “I’ll call someone in, and get cleaned up.  See you up there.”

He rummaged through his messenger bag and brought out his last two bottles of hypervodka.  When he got upstairs, he found he was the last to arrive.  Tony, Pepper, Thor, Steve, Sam, Natasha, Clint, Maria, and Bruce were there.  Everyone stared at him, and he shot Steve a look.  “What?” he said defensively.

“You should have told us,” Pepper came up and hugged him.  “We would have gotten you more help.”

He shook his head.  “No way.  Thanks, but no.  I heal fast.  I’m not going to be responsible for someone else being…”  Then he looked around, wide-eyed.  “Not that it happens that often.  She doesn’t get violent very often, at all.”

He was cut off by a fierce hug from Natasha.  “She’s our friend, too,” she said, her eyes uncharacteristically bright with emotion.

“All those times I gave you shit about bruises,” Tony said quietly.  “They weren’t because you were clumsy.”  It wasn’t a question.

Rory shrugged.  “I haven’t been clumsy since Barcelona,” he said, more to himself, than anything.  He barely remembered the awkward boy whose stag party was crashed by a mad alien whom his fiancé had just snogged.  “The planet, not the city,” he added absently.

“Right.  Well, either you keep us better apprised of how Peggy is faring – and you, for that matter, or I’ll have JARVIS start monitoring your apartment.  Got it?”

Rory nodded.  “Got it.”

As it turned out, neither Steve nor Thor had a great tolerance for the hypervodka.  They were doing an admirable rendition of “I Will Survive” on the karaoke machine when Tony handed Rory a ginger beer.

Rory raised an eyebrow, and Tony shrugged.  “Clint told me.”  He looked at Rory.  “What can I do?”

Rory snorted.  “Find a cure for Alzheimer’s?”  He shook his head.  “You’ve done so much, already, Tony.  I don’t know how I could ever thank you enough.”

“Money’s easy,” Tony said, waving a hand dismissively.  “You can throw money at anything.  But to actually make someone feel better?  To comfort them and make them less terrified…  It’s amazing, what you do for her.”

The song finished and Thor came over and flopped down on the sofa opposite Tony and Rory.  “Rory, I am sorry about your oldling,” he began.

Rory looked surprised at the term.  “Oldling?”

“But this is why, don’t you see,” the Asgardian said, leaning forward.  “This is why you should not date outside of your own species.  It’s just too difficult, when the lifespans are so different.”

“And how _is_ Jane, Thor?” Rory snarked.  “You do realize, by the way, that I started out human.  And now I have no species, unless you count the Doctor.”

Thor looked nonplussed.  “I meant no disrespect.  I only meant to say that I know what it is to have a long life, and to be with someone who I know will not.”

Rory finished his drink and Tony handed him another.  “It’s this push-pull that’s exhausting.”

“What do you mean?” Tony asked.

“I have missed my family desperately, from the moment I was sent back.  And yet, I found another.  Made a life.  And I don’t think…  I really hope that I haven’t wished these years away, because I love…”  He couldn’t finish.

“Have you, then?” Tony asked, certain of the answer.  “Have you wished these years away?”

Rory was half-sprung, so it took him a moment to consider.  He thought of each time he had called on his patience and resolved to live and appreciate each moment with Peggy and Dugan and all of their friends.  He gave Tony a small smile.  “No, I haven’t.”

“Of course you haven’t,” Tony smiled back.

Steve flopped down on the other side of Rory.  He was drunk off his arse and clearly was a happy, goofy, affectionate drunk.  “Thor, tell him about the thing.”

“The thing?” Tony cocked an eyebrow.  He looked at Rory.  “You know, tonight was supposed to be about cheering you up, but you’re the one who brought the happy juice for these two yo-yo’s.”

“Which is immensely cheering, I assure you,” Rory smiled.  He looked at Thor.  “What thing?”

“There’s a thing?” Thor looked confused.

“Yeah, the _thing_ ,” Steve emphasized.  “The older-berry thing.”

“Ah,” said Thor.  He turned to Rory.  “There is a plant on Asgard, called Elderflower.  There is something in this realm that has the same name, but it is not the same plant.  Asgardian Elderflower may possibly help your oldling.”

“Her name is _Peggy_ ,” Steve frowned at Thor.  “Stop calling her an ‘old thing’.  It’s rude.”

“Is it?”

Rory closed his eyes and had the distinct sense of déjà vu, from trying to make sense of conversations between Amy and the Doctor.  He began giggling. 

Unfortunately, once he started, he couldn’t stop.  At first, the others laughed with him, because it _was_ quite funny, and everyone had been drinking.  But then it became clear that nerves and exhaustion had gotten the better of their friend.

Soon enough, laughing turned to crying, and Natasha and Clint quietly suggested that the others turn in.  Thor and Steve left, leaning heavily on one another as they and the others all made their way to their quarters several floors below or, in the case of Pepper and Tony, to their bedroom down the hall.

Natasha reached out and embraced Rory, who wrapped his arms around her and wept like a child.  Clint wrapped his arms around them both, holding Rory between himself and Natasha.  For a moment, Rory sank into the distantly familiar comfort of being surrounded by loving male and female energy, all at once.  After a beat, they felt him relax.

As he calmed, he pulled himself together, once again.  But he did not withdraw from their embrace.  He allowed the comfort to sink into his skin, to settle into his bones.  He knew he still had a difficult time ahead, but he knew that this would sustain him, if he allowed it to do so.

They felt him fall asleep, but they did not want to leave him.  So they held him as he slept, and before long, they slept, as well.

***

The next morning, Rory extricated himself from his friends and hurried down to check on Peggy.  The day nurse was just bringing her breakfast.  Rory took over, talking to her as she ate.  She had slept through the night and was lucid and cheerful.

Rory showered and then joined her, climbing into her bed and pulling her close and reading to her from one of her favorite books.  He could tell by the way the skin on the back of his neck crawled that JARVIS was watching, now.  He would have to speak to Tony about privacy, but he understood the concern.  They wanted to ensure he did not get overwhelmed, again.

***


	4. Endings and Accords

Within the month, everything changed again.  Evil robots and an entire city being launched into the stratosphere and JARVIS was some sort of advanced being, now.  Or had combined with another to become something else, entirely. 

Rory knew the feeling.

He liked Vision, but he found he missed JARVIS’ voice, at the Tower.  He also missed the others.  Bruce was gone, now.  So was Thor.  Clint was now retired.  The rest had removed to the compound, upstate.  Tony had Quinjets doing a run between Stark Tower and the new Avengers facility several times a day, and he saw to it that Rory was on one of them, more days than not. 

So Rory ended up continuing to work out with the Avengers and having lunch before heading back to Stark Tower.  It gave him a few hours each day to pretend to be normal.  Though, in fairness, flying in a Quinjet to train and eat lunch with the Avengers was not particularly normal.

Peggy held her own for the remainder of 2015, and well into 2016.  The Elderflower plant that Thor had kindly given them was incredibly helpful, soothing her agitation and keeping her lucid.  Their supply ran out in April, but she seemed to hold steady, for a while.

By mid-May, when the team’s mission to Lagos, Nigeria went sideways, Peggy’s condition had begun to deteriorate.  News reports indicated a public demand that powered people be registered and that the Avengers fall under some sort of government oversight.  Whispers and plans had been in the air since Sokovia, but the public had been fairly evenly divided between the fact that the Avengers had saved the day and that they had caused the mess that made the day in need of saving, in the first place. 

After Lagos, the divide was no longer even.

“Wakanda.  Where have I heard that name before?” Rory frowned at the morning news report airing on the television on the seventeenth of June.

“Lists,” Peggy muttered.  “That can’t be good.”

“Hey, there’s my girl,” Rory smiled.

“Rory, with SHIELD gone, you’ll be exposed.”

“I’ll be fine,” Rory kissed her forehead.  “Please don’t fret.  The Doctor will get me off of any list I end up on, yeah?”

“But lists… they’re only a whisper away from detainments.  Rory, I’m frightened.”

“Margaret Carter Williams, you have done entirely too much for this world, to be afraid of it, now,” Rory chided.  “I will be fine.  Now.  What would you like for breakfast?”

***

The Sokovia Accords had been drawn up and were set to be ratified in three days’ time.  Rory walked into the Avengers facility just as Secretary of State Ross began his posturing, the morning of the eighteenth.

“For the past four years you’ve operated with unlimited power and no supervision.  That’s an arrangement that the governments of the world can no longer tolerate.”

“Two thousand and eighty-seven years,” Rory said quietly from his seat at the table.

“What?” Ross snapped.

“You want to talk about perspective.  In two thousand and eighty-seven years, ask me how many times I’ve seen a list made and _not_ eventually used against the people on it.”  He looked around the room, and his friends were startled to see how haggard he looked.  “I’ll give you a hint.”  He slammed his hand down on the table and said, “None!” his voice hard.

“You think you’re above it all, don’t you, Williams?” Ross’ voice dripped with disdain.  “But your name will be at the top of that list, if it’s the last thing I do.”

“You mean second from the top, right?  Right after Banner?” Rory asked mildly.  “That’s where this crusade against the enhanced started, right?  But does anyone know what lengths you’ll go to, to appease your bigotry?”

“You shut your goddamned mouth,” Ross growled.

“Rory,” Natasha spoke up in a warning tone.

“What?” Steve asked, looking from one to another.

“Ask your _distinguished_ statesman here who gave the untested serum to Emil Blonsky.”

“Shut.  Up.”  Ross snarled.

“Ask him who is responsible for the Abomination, just because he didn’t like Banner,” Rory was standing, glaring at Ross.

Ross strode over and stood nose to nose with Rory, glaring.  “You _will_ be on that list, Williams.  I will go get Peggy Carter and throw her into a facility where she will _drool_ for however many days she has left, alone and unattended.  And I will find your other wife – Amy Williams, right? – and I will throw her in the deepest hole I can find.  And your precious Doctor will be brought in, as well.  I know it’s this year.  I will find them, and I will have them both.  I’ve got calls in to UNIT and Torchwood, as we speak.”

Steve and Tony were on their feet, indignant over the threat to Peggy.  Natasha watched Rory closely.  Ross had just stood on every button of the most protective man who ever lived.  And Rory was… laughing?  The others looked at him as though he had grown a second head as he laughed and laughed.

“Ah, thanks for that,” he said, clapping Ross on the shoulder.  “Really, I needed a good laugh.”  He grinned and added.  “Perhaps you need a lay of the land, Thunderballs.”

Rhodes’ mouth dropped open and Sam coughed to cover the shocked laugh.  Vision blinked.  Wanda stared.

“Amy is unenhanced, and you’re talking about detaining someone without cause.  Just try it, mate.  Particularly when she is under the protection of the Doctor.”  He grinned.  “And Melody.  Yes, _please_ try it, with Melody there.  I’ll bring the popcorn.”

Now Tony and Steve were staring, too.

“And perhaps a history lesson is in order.  Do you know who founded UNIT?  No?  Brigadier General Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart.  Bit of a mouthful, that.  But guess who helped the Brig set it up?  I’ll give you another hint.  It rhymes with proctor.”  He smiled.  “Has Kate _Stewart_ returned _any_ of your calls, or did she just laugh at you, when she did?” 

Rory clapped his hands together.  “And Torchwood!  Yes!  Perhaps you’ll have more luck there.  After all, Queen Victoria established it in 1879 to deal with aliens in general, and the Doctor in particular.”  He grinned and winked at Wanda.  “She was cross that day, and quite possibly a werewolf.”

“Queen Victoria was a werewolf?” Steve shook his head, confused.

“Possibly,” Rory held up an instructive finger.  “But most definitely cross.”

“She was not amused, I take it?” Tony couldn’t hide his grin.

“My point is,” Rory circled back to Ross.  “One hundred and thirty-seven years is a long time, to have nothing to show for it.  Perhaps they’ve figured out what others are too thick to understand.”  He leaned towards Ross.  “The Doctor is not the enemy.”

“And as for Meg,” Rory became quite serious.  “You will not touch her, I promise you.”  He chuckled again.  “That’s what this is really about, isn’t it?  She called you out on your bullshit, and you just couldn’t take it.  Not from a woman.”

“You will sign the Accords, Williams, if it is the last thing I do.”  Ross looked around at the others.  “I’ll leave the rest of you to discuss this.”

As soon as Ross was gone, Tony rounded on Rory.  “What the hell, Gramps?”

“Steve, can I speak with you for a moment?” Rory said, all the fight gone.  He looked…

“Oh, no,” Natasha whispered.

“What is it, Rory?” Steve said, standing and approaching him.  “Whatever it is, you can tell all of us.”

Rory nodded.  Suddenly, he couldn’t speak.  He took a deep breath.  “Meg’s gone,” he whispered.

Steve caught him before his knees buckled, and hugged him.  The two men who had loved Peggy Carter best and longest held onto one another for several moments.  When they separated, Natasha hugged Rory.

He pulled her arms from around him and gently pushed her away.  “I know it was you, Natasha,” he said, his voice hard, now.  “I know you gave it to her.”

She stepped back, her eyes wide.  “Rory…”

“What?” Steve looked from one to the other.

“Damn,” Tony muttered.

“You gave her freedom, and you gave her the ability to make her own choice.  But in doing so, you helped her break her final promise to me, to talk to me before she did it.”

“You mean…” Steve looked stricken.

“You were never going to let her go, Rory,” Natasha said, her eyes shining.

“Yes, I was,” he sighed.  “But I wasn’t going to let her do it because of the Accords.”  He looked at her, his eyes haunted.  “Now I have to live with the fact that she did this, because of me.”  He turned away.  “Tell me how I'm supposed to live with that,” he whispered.

He was trying to control his anger, his grief.  He struggled for a long moment, and only realized that he had stopped breathing when his bypass tried to kick in.  He disabled it. 

“Rory?  Rory, come on, you have to breathe,” he felt Steve next to him, his hand rubbing his back.

Natasha grabbed him by the arm and turned him around, and then slapped him hard, across the face.

“Nat!” Steve exclaimed.

“Don’t you _dare_ do that,” she snarled as Rory drew in a surprised breath.  “This was not about you.  She has been looking for the right moment, ever since the Elderflower ran out.  She did not do this because of the Accords, or you.  She did it because she knew she couldn’t put it off, any longer.”  She reached up and traced the remainder of a bruise around his eye.  “She knew she had done that,” she whispered.  “The Accords only affirmed her choice.”

“You _knew_?” Rory looked horrified.

“I knew it would probably be this week.  And don’t you dare look at me that way!  You, of all people, know what it is to know what’s going to happen, and not be able to do a damned thing about it.”

Rory reached out and grabbed her wrist.  “Tell me it wasn’t because of the Accords.”

“It wasn’t about the Accords.  She was afraid for you, because of them, but she was more horrified to know she had hurt you.”

“But... she didn’t,” he protested.

“Oh, Rory,” she pulled him into her arms.  “She’s been hurting you for a long time, and you won’t admit it.  I know it’s normal for Alzheimer’s patients to become violent, but you endured so much, and you still won’t allow for the fact that even though it’s normal, it was awful, and it hurt, and it hurt even more, because it was your Meg.”

Rory finally broke.  He allowed himself to grieve for a half hour, and then he left them to discuss the Accords.  He asked Natasha to stop by later.  He went home and found that the nurses had called in the undertaker, so he went to the funeral home and made arrangements. 

***

Two days later, everyone was surprised when Rory did not turn up for the funeral in London. 

“He must have taken Ross’ threats seriously,” Tony said, frowning.  “Guess he’s lying low.”

“Or, Ross _was_ serious,” Natasha replied, worried.  “No way Rory willingly misses Peggy’s funeral.”

***


	5. Captivity

Tony flew out to the Raft the day after the fight.  He heard slow clapping. 

“The Futurist, gentlemen!  The Futurist is here!  He sees all.  He knows what’s best for you, whether you like it or not.”

Tony caught hell from each of the three men in the cells to the right of where he’d entered.  He cut out the audio to speak to Sam, and once he had the information he needed, he turned to go.  Something caught his eye, across the way.  “Who is…”

“Oh, didn’t you know?” Clint piped up again.  “They got him, on his way to his wife’s funeral.  What’d he do, Tony?  Huh?  How’d he break a law that didn’t even exist on the day they arrested him?”

Tony strode over to a cell that was lit from every angle with harsh, painful lighting.  Cold air poured out of the cell, chilling him.  The cell was bare, no bed, not even a blanket.  The man inside was chained to the two side walls – each wrist shackled and chained, his arms stretched wide.  He was naked.  The entire back of his body, from neck to ankles, was marked by what appeared to be scorched, open welts.  Whip marks.

“What the hell?” Tony looked to Sam and Clint.  Scott was looking at him with deepest loathing.

“They have at him for hours at a time with fists, a cattle prod, or an electrified whip, just to make him scream,” Clint said, his face a mask of rage.  “Then they shoot him up with adrenaline, so he won’t go into a healing coma.  They won’t let him heal, Tony.  This is the horse you’ve hitched your wagon to, and you say _I_ chose the wrong side?”

Tony stepped into the cell, which wasn’t closed.  No need, with those chains.  He idly wondered if Rory _could_ break them.  He walked around him and saw the same damage to his chest and the front of his body.  Up close, the bruises were appalling.  They’d been beating the hell out of him.  But careful not to break bones, he noted.  There were scorch marks from the cattle prod all over his torso and nether regions.

“Gramps?”

Rory’s head came up, his eyes blankly staring, straight ahead.  “Renatus Lupus Petran,” he intoned.  “Secundas-Pilus-Prior.  Legio Flavia Felix.”

Tony looked across the way, confused.  “Apparently, the Roman version of name, rank and serial number is name, rank and legion.  It’s all they can get out of him.” Sam said.

“Gramps, it’s me, Tony.  I’m going to see about getting you out of here, okay?”

“Renatus Lupus Petran…”

“I’ve blocked audio to the cells.”

Rory sagged.  “Try not to feel so horrified.  I can feel it rolling off of you, you know.”  He gave a wheeze.  “How was the funeral?”

Tony winced.  “It was lovely.  Cap and Nat spoke.  We… we missed you.”

“I missed my Meg’s funeral,” Rory hung his head, miserable.

“I’ll be back, Gramps.  I promise.”

“You do that,” Rory snarked.  “Keep in mind, I can feel your horror.  Which means I can also feel how much he gets off on this.”

On his way out, Tony confronted Ross.  “Why do you have Williams?”

“He is a known associate of a dangerous alien, who will be landing here on Earth, before the year is out.  I intend to find out when, and capture the alien.”  Ross smiled smugly.  He knew he could justify holding Rory.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Tony didn’t have time for this.

“Did Wilson give you anything on Rogers?”

“Nope.  Told me to go to hell.  I’m going back to the compound, instead, but you can call me anytime.  I’ll put you on hold.  I like to watch the line blink.”

***

Tony told Steve about the others being at the Raft while they searched the Siberian facility for Zemo.  He felt ill again as he spoke of Rory’s injuries.

“We’ll get him out,” Steve said.

Then the world ended again.

***

“Rise and shine!” a hand grabbed Rory roughly by the hair.  “I have something special for you, today.”  Ross seemed almost gleeful.  “It’s been an eventful few days, but Agent Romanoff came through for us, in the end.”  He held up a beat up old messenger bag.

Rory felt a moment of panic before spotting something.  Rather, there was a long scratch along the front of the leather that was missing.  He kept his face blank as Ross opened it, showing it to be a normal bag.  The bigger on the inside detail was a well-kept secret, Rory was relieved to know. 

Out of the bag, Ross pulled a simple box, about the size of a shoe box, made of rough wood.  “The urn you chose for the funeral was quite nice, but we knew it was a decoy.  We also knew that you had entrusted Agent Romanoff with the real urn.  Not very pretty, I must say.”

Rory looked on, impassive.  That was the box.  Natasha wouldn’t have given it up, would she?

“I know what you’re thinking.  You’ve fought beside this woman.  You trust her.  But what you don’t understand is that she will always look out for her own best interests.  She helped Rogers and Barnes escape, so she’s wanted now.  You really think she wouldn’t give up a box of ashes, to save her own skin?”

Rory could only hope that Natasha had double-crossed Ross.  He certainly believed every word he was saying.

“Now.  I think we’ll have some fun.  On what date will the Doctor visit New York City?”

“Renatus Lupus Petran,” Rory began.

Ross stepped forward and punched Rory hard in the ribs.  Then he stepped back and opened the box of ashes.  “Everyone thinks they just dump the ashes into the urns, but they don’t.  They’re always in a plastic bag.  Which makes it really weird, don’t you think?”

Rory watched uneasily as Ross opened the bag and poured its contents back into the box.

“Looks like crushed oyster shells, I always thought,” Ross said conversationally.  He reached into the box and grabbed a handful of ash.

Rory could feel the rage of the men in the cells opposite as Ross threw the ashes at him.  He felt a bit ill, himself.  His face and chest were now covered in ash, and it was in his hair.  He blew out through his nose to get it out of his nostrils. 

As the “questioning” progressed, Rory ended up with more of the ashes on him.  Ross even shoved a handful down his throat, at one point.  Right before placing the bag over Rory’s head.  He struggled until his respiratory bypass kicked in, at which point Ross gave up. 

It was no fun if there was no terror.  Yes, there was a reflexive struggle, but knowing the bypass would kick in meant there was no true fear to exploit.

“You know, you were right.  I never liked Peggy,” Ross said conversationally, sometime later.  He walked to the box and began undoing his fly.  “So I think it’s only fitting that I show you just how much contempt I really hold for the bitch.”

Rory watched in horror as Ross pissed into the box of ashes.  When he was done, he threw the slurry at Rory before calling in the soldier to whip him, some more.  As the pain became too much, Rory withdrew for a while, his own screams becoming remote as he allowed the pain to push him into the memory of his last night with his beloved.

***

“One midnight cup of tea for milady,” Rory handed the dainty cup and saucer to his dainty wife and smiled at her.  She’d had such a good day, despite the fact that she had fretted so much about the proposed Accords.  He picked up his own cup and sat on the edge of the bed beside her.

“You are such a dear, Rory,” she smiled at him.  She looked over his shoulder, as though she saw something there, and he turned.  When he turned back, she was still smiling, stirring her tea with her spoon.

“No dearer than you, Meg,” he grinned.

They chatted for a few minutes, and she did not put down her cup until she had drunk every bit of the tea.  When she placed the cup on its saucer on the table, there was a finality to it that made Rory feel queasy.  He looked back at Peggy.

“Meg, tell me you didn’t,” he said, feeling panicked.  He picked up her cup and looked in it, ran his finger along the bottom, smelled it, licked his finger.  He knew what she had done.  “Meg, why?”

“It’s time, Rory,” she smiled at him.  “Come here, my Sweet.  It will take a while, but it won’t be ugly or painful.  Let’s spend our time left together.”

“You promised,” he said, feeling tears falling.

“I know, and I am sorry.  But I was never going to make you help with this.  It would have been asking too much.  This is best, my Love.  It’s time.  I can’t go on being selfish.  It’s time to set you free.”

“You speak as though I find you a burden,” he said, his voice angry.

“I know you don’t feel that way, but that doesn’t mean that’s not how it is,” she replied.  “Come now, Love.  I must insist.  I do not want to spend our last night together, quarreling.”

Rory sighed.  He felt angry and upset and his hearts were breaking and he could hardly breathe.  But Rory knew how to live in each moment.  He shoved away all of the conflict and then pulled the sheet down and picked her up.  He carried her to their chair and sat there, holding her close to him, and they spoke of all their years together, of all their love.  They reminisced about old friends and new.  They spoke of their adventures, their triumphs, their failures. 

They left nothing unsaid.

Around four in the morning, she began to fade.  He carried her back to bed and lay down beside her, knowing it was for the last time.  “We had a good life together, didn’t we?” she smiled sleepily at him.

“It’s been a wonderful life, my Sweet,” he smiled sadly.

“Will you sing to me?”

Rory could hardly breathe, but he could not refuse her such a thing.  He sang to her, and she drifted away, a smile on her lips. 

He sang until his voice was almost gone, and the sun was up.  He retrieved the leech and packed the things he knew he would not want to be without into his messenger bag before heading to the compound to tell his friends. 

When he got to London the next day, he lost Ross’ tail and found a private courier to take the messenger bag to his father.  He received confirmation of the delivery on a burner phone that he dumped before he let the tail pick him back up again.

They captured him just outside the church as he was headed to the funeral.  It took eight soldiers to subdue him.  And now, he had been here – at the Raft, he heard someone say – for six days, fourteen hours and twelve minutes.  He was ripped from his memories by the shot of adrenaline they administered before they left.

He gasped back to consciousness feeling as though both hearts would burst.  Adrenaline was not really compatible with his physiology, and it hurt like hell, every time they gave it to him, but it served their purposes.  He gasped in short, panting breaths, but it didn’t help.  It would keep him out of a healing coma, but it wouldn’t keep him from hyperventilating and passing out.

***

When Rory woke, it was to the usual pain, but the lights were mercifully off.  A blanket was being tucked around his waist.  A gentle hand was on his right waist and supporting his weight as the shackle on his left hand was opened and his arm dropped uselessly over someone’s shoulder.  As the other shackle was opened, he leaned into the warmth of the body supporting him, but the pain quickly redoubled.  He cried out as the agony spread across his shoulders, which had been supporting him at an uncomfortable angle for almost a week, now.

He was gently lowered onto a blanket, which was then wrapped around him.  He tried to open his eyes, but the effort was too great.

“Shhh.  You rest, Gramps.  We’ll get you someplace safe, now.”  It was Steve.

“Messenger bag,” he muttered.  They were going to need the first aid kits.

“Already got it,” he heard Natasha say.  "Your dad's a doll, by the way."

He was carried to a Quinjet, though maybe it wasn’t actually a Quinjet.  It felt different, somehow.  “What’s all over him?” someone asked.

Clint, Scott and Sam took turns explaining what Ross had done.  Rory reached out and tried to turn onto his side.  His back felt as though it were on fire.  Steve and Clint helped him, and Natasha prepared a hypo spray of painkiller for him.  Before she could administer it, he caught her hand.

“Where’s Meg?”

Her eyes widened before she realized he was asking about her ashes.  “I handed her ashes directly to Jack Harkness.  He promised to keep them safe, for you.”

“Sweet Javic,” Rory sighed, his voice barely a whisper that they could not make out.  A bit louder, he asked, “He all right?”

“He’s fine.  Worried about you.”

Rory nodded.  “I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

“They had me for too long for me not to worry, at least a little bit.”  He took a breath, exhausted, but then his eyes opened wide.  “So whose ashes did you give him?”

Natasha chuckled.  “I gave him crushed oyster shells with some redwood ash mixed in.”

“Oh.  Good.  Thanks.  Will still be good to get it off of me, though.”

She gave him the painkiller, then. 

He might have passed out, after that.

***


	6. Sanctuary

When Rory woke, there were a half dozen people crowded around his bed.  He startled, trying to get away.  He could barely move his arms, and several of the cuts on his back reopened.  He cried out in pain.

“Shhhh.  Quiet, now,” a young woman with a distinctive African accent tried to soothe.

He looked around, wide eyed.  Steve, Clint and Natasha were there, but he couldn’t calm himself.  He was close to hyperventilating.

”Try to take a deep breath,” she encouraged.

 _Shallow breaths_.  It was a fine line between getting his breathing under control and hyperventilating.  Natasha took his hand and soon enough, he was able to calm himself. 

“Or not,” the young woman smiled, looking at her monitor.  “Ah.  I see, now.  Interesting.”

Rory sat up, only to hear everyone protest.  He felt lightheaded.  “Not much time.  Adrenaline… incompatible.  Maybe… poison.  Maybe.  Bag?”  He looked at Natasha, who left him and grabbed his bag. 

Clint held him up as he reached into the bag and found the right locker.  He pulled out four large IV bags, one at a time, crying out with the effort as Clint grabbed each one.  Then he found the first aid kit and pulled out a leech and four needleless IV’s.  He was still naked, but relieved to see that they had somehow scrubbed him clean. 

“Thanks for cleaning me up,” he muttered.

“You were _disgusting_ ,” the young woman exclaimed, crinkling her nose. 

“So sorry that what was smeared all over me while I was chained to a wall offended you,” he snarked.  “For my part, I’m just glad it wasn’t my wife’s ashes.”

“Oh, I like you,” she grinned at him.  “I only meant that I couldn’t stand the thought of you being so filthy, when you woke.”

“Sorry,” Rory looked abashed.  “And thanks,” he added quietly.

He pulled up the blanket covering him to expose the tops of his thighs.  His entire body was covered in cuts and welts, but he was able to find his femoral (ish) arteries and attach the IV’s.  He read the bags and attached each one appropriately before finding the best veins in his arms and doing the same.  IV stands were found and the bags hung.  Clint attached the leech and helped Rory lie back down.

He was gasping from the effort.  There was no way he could lie without aggravating an injury, and he was in agony.

“More painkiller,” Natasha approached with the hypo spray.

“Don’t bother,” he gritted.  He pointed at the bags.  “These are meant to flush out any foreign substances.  Including painkillers.”

“But Gramps,” Clint protested.

“I believe I can help with that,” the young woman said.

“I’m sorry.  Who are you?” Rory asked, breathing heavily.

“My name is Shuri,” she smiled.  “Sister of King T’Challa, of Wakanda.”

“Hi Shuri.  I’m Rory.”  He spoke as though he met royalty every day.  He looked around the space, frowning.  “Wakanda.  Wakanda.  You lost people in Lagos,” he said.  At her sober nod, he added, “I am sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” she said, giving him a curious look.

“Wakanda!” he exclaimed, sitting up and looking around.  “The secret kingdom, the Doctor called it.  Fantastic tech, he said.  And coming from him,” he grew faint and Natasha and Shuri kept him from cracking his head on the table as he fell back onto it.

Natasha grabbed a cloth and wet it at the sink on the far side of the room and began mopping Rory’s brow.  He was sweating profusely, still gasping for breath.  He couldn’t stop shaking.  And the pain was becoming worse.

“You know the Doctor?” a man spoke from the shadows.

Rory looked towards the voice.  “You could say that,” he deadpanned.

Natasha and Clint chuckled.  Steve rolled his eyes.  Scott looked confused.  Wanda was quiet in the corner, with Sam standing with an arm around her.

The man stepped forward.  “I am King T’Challa,” he said.  “I am sorry for your difficulties.  I am told that you were detained because you have information regarding an alien threat to Earth.  Am I to understand that this so-called threat is the Doctor?”

“Renatus Lupus Petran,” Rory sat up, panicking. 

“Rory?” Natasha frowned.

“Gramps, it’s all right.  You’re safe,” Clint sat on the table behind him and wrapped his arms around him, holding Rory’s arms close to his body.  You’re all right.  You don’t have to answer any more questions.”

“He is having a panic attack,” Shuri said, glaring at her brother.  “This is not the time for questions, Brother.” 

“We can’t give him anything that will help, while he’s hooked up to those bags,” Natasha frowned.

Shuri turned to a counter and began mixing a few herbs together.  “Here,” she said, giving the beaker to Natasha.  “Help him drink.  It will calm him, but it will not affect the detoxification process.”

As panic attacks went, it wasn’t a bad one.  Whatever was in the drink helped almost immediately.  As he calmed, he also noticed that the pain was more tolerable.  “What was that?” he asked weakly.

“It is a local root,” she smiled.  “I will also prepare poultices with it, for your injuries.”  She frowned, feeling ill at the pain this man had suffered.

“I apologize,” T’Challa said, staying well away and speaking quietly.  “I did not mean to trigger painful memories.  But I was curious.  You see, the Doctor is a friend of ours.”

Rory nodded.  “You’ve met him?”

“No.  My father and his father before him counted the Doctor among our friends and allies, though.  We grew up hearing stories of the Doctor and his magical blue box.”

“Which one?” Rory asked.

“I do not understand.”

“What did he look like?”

T’Challa walked to a nearby monitor and pulled up several images.

Rory smiled.  “I never met ‘the scarf’.  Ah, ‘the ears’,” he smiled fondly.  “And ‘the hair!’” he chuckled.  The fourth picture caused him to sober.  He swallowed hard.  “Watch out, that bowtie,” he smiled, though his eyes had started to tear.

“Hey, you’ll see them soon, yeah?” Natasha reassured.

“If Ross doesn’t find me, first,” he shook his head.  Then he startled.  “I can’t be here.  I can’t put you in danger, if he finds out I’m here.”

“Hey, it’s all right, Gramps,” Steve reached out and took Rory’s hand.  It was about the only part of him that wasn’t injured, other than the bruises from the fight he gave the men who took him, the day of the funeral.  “We’re all wanted, now.  And T’Challa has offered us sanctuary.”

“You are all welcome, here,” T’Challa assured him.  “And I assure you, they will not find you.”

They gave him another beaker of the herbal mixture, hoping to ward off another panic attack.  Shuri placed strips of gauze soaked in the same mixture on each of the cuts caused by the whip.  Clint and Natasha stood by either side of the table and helped hold him upright so she could start with his back and chest.

“This will help the cuts to heal, and will minimize the scarring.”  She hesitated.  “I’m sorry, but you’ll still have many scars.  I will try to do what I can with the one on your face, though.”

Rory assumed the cut from just outside the corner of his right eye to his jawline must be bad, if she was that concerned about it.

“Can’t you just do a healing coma?” Clint asked.  “You don’t end up with scars, when you do that.”

“Yeah, I’ve always wondered why you have that scar,” Natasha pointed at the scar from the Weevil bite.

“Didn’t go into a healing coma, when it happened,” he answered Natasha’s question, first.  Then he turned to Clint.  “I don’t know that I can, now.”

“Even once you’ve detoxed from the adrenaline?”

“By the time that’s done, I’ll have probably slept and healed enough that my body won’t need to induce a coma.”  He shrugged.  “It’s all right.”

“Gramps,” Steve didn’t know how to tell him about the extent of the scarring that he would have.

“Still better than melted plastic,” he grinned at Steve as they helped him lie down, once more.

It took an hour for Shuri to cover all of his injuries.  By then the pain had quietened enough that he was able to sleep.

***

Rory woke with a start, sitting up and trying to get his bearings.  He had no idea where he was.

“You are safe, my friend,” T’Challa said quietly.  He was careful not to stand too close.

Steve strode in, followed quickly by Shuri.  “Five minutes I leave you, and that’s when you decide to wake up,” his smiled faded.  “How do you feel?”

Rory was trying to calm his racing hearts.  He gave a nod.  He reached out and checked the bags.  They were all empty.  He pulled out the IV’s and stowed everything in his bag.  He removed the leech and put it away, as well.  Then he swung his legs over the side of the table.

“And where do you think you are going?” Shuri asked.

“Need to walk,” he replied, wrapping the blanket around his waist.  He felt weak and sore, but he could tell that his body had healed quite a bit.  “How long was I out?”

“Thirty-two hours,” Shuri answered.  “I was able to take the gauze off after twenty-four.  The scarring is not as bad as I initially feared, but I am sorry.  I was not able to eliminate the scar on your face.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he reassured.  “Thank you for trying.”  He looked around.  “Don’t suppose you have a spare bathtub and some Epsom salts,” he asked.

“Of course.  We will assign you quarters and be sure you have everything you need.”

Within a quarter hour Rory had his own room and as the bath ran he shaved and cut his hair.  He spent a while examining his body.  Amy would be distressed.  For all her talk about how sexy scars were, the Weevil bite had bothered her. 

Now this.

He could not ignore the fact that it was pretty bad.  The worst of it was that it was obvious that he had been tortured.  He did not want his beloveds to know that.  He was glad Meg would not have to know it.

He caught himself at that thought, and a sob tore from his chest. 

Selfish git that he was, he would show her every injury he had ever sustained, just to see her, one more time.   

Once he calmed, he sank into the truly massive bathtub filled with enough salt that he was almost floating.  Shuri had also given him more of the healing herb mixture to put in the bath.  He allowed himself to drift.  His time at the Raft had been horrific, but he seemed to be navigating it, well enough.  He knew the panic would not completely subside until he was with his family, once more.  Ross had almost beaten his hope of seeing them again out of him. 

Almost.

Somehow, the water stayed quite hot for a good long while.  When he finally got out, he showered and then dressed.  He was beginning to feel hungry, so he decided to explore.  He was weak and sore and not moving quickly or well, but it felt good to move.

He found what seemed to be the medical wing and decided to look for Shuri.  He wanted to thank her for her help, and perhaps she could point him to where he could find some tea.  He passed by a door just as someone in a lab coat passed through, and he saw a familiar face.

“Sergeant?” he entered the space.

Bucky was sitting on an exam table wearing a white vest and trousers.  His left arm was gone.  He had been staring at his right hand, but his head snapped up as he saw Rory approach.

“Lieutenant?” he blinked, then a smile ghosted over his lips.  “Long time.”

“Guess Steve filled you in?”

“Alien innards, super-long lifespan, married Peggy Carter?  Yeah.”  His smile faded.  “I’m sorry.”

Rory felt as though he was absorbing another blow.  He could hardly believe it had only been ten days.  “Yeah.”  He looked at Bucky.  “How are you holding up?”

Bucky shrugged his armless shoulder.  The gesture seemed strange.  “It’s like there’s a bomb in my head, just waiting to go off.”

Rory frowned.  “How so?”

Bucky explained about the trigger.

“Well, no one knows the words, and no one here would use them.  Can you trust that you’re safe, at least for right now?”

Bucky looked at him, his eyes full of sorrow.  “What difference does it make, if _I’m_ safe?  It’s everyone else that I’m worried about.”

“You’re going to have to forgive yourself, Bucky.”

“What do you know?” Bucky spat.  “What could you possibly know about being locked away in your own mind, being forced to watch yourself commit murder?”

“I see Steve didn’t tell you everything, then.”  Rory jumped up onto the table beside Bucky and hissed as he settled beside him.  “There’s this species of alien called the Nestene Consciousness,” he began.

He explained about dying, under the earth.  About the Alliance finding Renatus in a parallel Rome.  About both together, being subsumed when the plastic was activated.  “I couldn’t override the programming,” he said quietly.  “Everything in me was fighting it, and it wasn't enough.”  He looked at Bucky, then away.  “I killed Amy.”

He jumped off the table, unable to sit still.  Turning to Bucky, he looked him in the eye.  “So as it happens, I know quite a bit about doing murder while watching helpless, locked away in my own mind.”

“And how’s that self-forgiveness going for you?” Bucky asked defiantly.

“Some days are better than others,” Rory answered honestly.  “Every day it’s a choice to be made.  Some days I choose forgiveness.  Others I just can’t seem to bring myself to do it.  As time has passed, it’s gotten a bit easier to work at it.  But this I know: if you want to move on, you’ve got to do the work.”

Bucky frowned, but he nodded.  Rory hoped his friend would at least consider his words.

He walked closer to Bucky.  “It’s good to see you, you know.”

“You look like hell,” Bucky grinned, but then sobered.  “It’s men like Ross that make me almost sorry I’m not an assassin, anymore.”

Rory chuckled.  He looked at his arms and regretted wearing a short-sleeved t-shirt.  His upper arms and forearms were scarred, and his wrists still bore deep bruises, from the shackles.  His hands began shaking, again.  He took a deep, staggered breath and managed to still the trembling.  “I’ll be all right,” he said, and he wondered if it sounded any more convincing to Bucky than it did, to him.

“Hey,” Bucky reached out and took his hand.  Rory recoiled at the touch, and Bucky misunderstood.  “C’mon, Rory, I’m not making a pass at you, a week after your wife has died.”  Then his eyes widened as something clicked in how Rory’s hand had begun to tremble, again.  “Rory?”

He pulled Rory to him, and Rory buried his face in Bucky’s neck as he wrapped his arms around him.  Bucky placed his hand at the back of Rory’s head and held him, cursing the lack of even a prosthetic arm to properly hold his friend with.  “Rory?” he said quietly.  “Rory, did they…” Rory tightened his hold.  “Did they rape you?” he finally whispered.

Rory shook his head, but didn’t release his hold.

“But they hurt you, didn’t they?”

 _Yes_.

Bucky jolted, and Rory stepped away from him, scrubbing a hand over his face.  “Sorry.  Sorry.  I’m sorry.  Shit.  I'm sorry.”

Bucky took his hand again.  “It’s all right.  Didn’t know you could do that, is all.”  He pulled Rory close again.  “Come here.”  Rory sat next to him again.  Bucky did not release his hand.  “Tell me.”

Rory shook his head.  “It’s nothing.  They were just… thorough, with the beatings.”  He shrugged.  “Already healing.”

“It’s not nothing,” Bucky said quietly.  He looked at Rory.  “Do that again.”  At Rory’s curious look, he added, “the telepathy.”

_Tim Dugan always thought it was a party trick._

Bucky chuckled.  “He would.”

_You should make a pass.  See if he catches it._

Bucky’s head snapped around.  “See if who catches it?”

Rory smiled.  _He’d have to get used to the idea, is all.  He doesn’t realize… it’s buried deep._

Bucky’s hand trembled, just enough for Rory to feel it.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

_See, the thing about touch telepathy is, when you’re swallowing a man’s cock and he comes so hard that it feels like he’s going to dissolve into pure light, even the best psychic defenses can’t keep the name of the one he’s thinking about out of your head._

“Shit.  Well, that’s just rude.”  Bucky let go of his hand.

Rory shrugged.  “It’s okay.  You couldn’t help it.”

“I meant you, you freak,” Bucky couldn’t hide his grin.

“Oi!  I couldn’t help it, either,” Rory protested, chuckling.  He took his hand again.   _He’s watching, right now.  And he’s_ really _pissed with me, but he doesn’t know why._

Bucky got to his feet and looked around.  “How did I miss that?”

“Cameras,” Rory shrugged.  “They don’t feel the same as having eyes on you.”

“And how do you know… _that_ , if you’re a touch telepath?”

Rory shrugged again.  “It’s hard not to hear a really loud noise, if it’s really, really loud.”  He stood and hugged Bucky.  “Thanks for the talk.”

As he stepped away from Rory, Bucky tried to frown.  “Freak.”

“Yeah, you said that, already.”

“Fine.  Queer.”

“Homo,” Rory grinned.

“Nope,” Bucky returned his grin.  “Bi.  Like you, right?”

“Nope,” Rory chuckled.  “Omni.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow.

Rory waggled his.  “Aliens.”

Bucky’s laughter could be heard throughout the medical wing.

Those watching the interaction decided it had been good, for both patients.

***


	7. New Friends and Old

Within the week, Rory’s body was healed.  Bucky went back into cryo so Shuri could work on a way to get the programming out of his head.  Steve and the others left as well, though not before seeking Rory out to make their farewells.

Rory took to wandering the countryside for hours (and sometimes even days) on end.  He was grieving, and he was trying to deal with the PTSD from what had happened at the Raft.  He would walk until he’d collapse, and then weep until he slept. 

Each time he woke, there would be someone nearby.  He would call out, and one of T’Challa’s Dora Milaje would step into view.  It was usually Okoye, who would then walk him back to his quarters.

“I’m causing you extra work,” he said, the third time this happened.

“It is not work,” she said, smiling.  “It is no burden, to walk my land.”

“Yeah, but I’m thinking you have better things to do than to babysit me.”

“You are our guest,” she smiled again.  “Please do not trouble yourself.”  She glanced sidelong at him.  “I am sorry for your loss.  And I am honored to be a guardian as you grieve.”  She cast her eyes around.  “You crave isolation, but the places you seek are not always safe.”

“I never feel you following me.  How do you find me?”

“You are certain you cannot be followed?” she asked in a teasing tone.

Rory considered.  “Fair point.  Just because no one ever has, doesn’t mean no one _can_.”

“I usually find that is exactly what that means,” she replied.  “Your instincts are uncanny.”

“I was a soldier for a long time.  And a guardian for even longer.  And… you know.  Not really human, now.  My senses are a bit heightened.”

“What sort of guardian were you?” she studiously ignored his talk of no longer being human.  He was born human, and he acted with honor and integrity.  That was enough.  Perhaps she would tell him so.

She drew him out, and they became friends, as the weeks passed.  She never told him that they had planted a tracker under his skin after the first time he wandered off.  She had a feeling he already knew.

***

Most days, he breakfasted with T’Challa and Shuri, and sometimes their mother, Ramonda.  Then he would spend time with Shuri in her lab, marveling at her tech even as she was quietly impressed by his knowledge.  She allowed him to help on certain projects, which kept his hands busy and his mind occupied. 

Afternoons he would train with T’Challa and the Dora Milaje.  Sometimes he would take tea with Ramonda, with whom he shared a bond, as they had both lost beloved spouses within days of one another.

He would usually have dinner with the Dora Milaje, who had grown quite fond of him.  Nights he would roam the halls or haunt the library, for his habit of sleep now eluded him, or was plagued by nightmares.

As his trust in his surroundings and the people around him grew, so did his ability to allow his grief.  He flattered himself that he was grieving in a normal, healthy way as the weeks passed.  

Then Peggy’s birthday came around.

August seventh dawned, overcast and hot.  Rory had planned for a quiet day, and he actually slept, the night before.  But as soon as he woke and began to dress, his eyes fell on the pictures on his night table, and something snapped inside.

He clawed the tracker out of his arm and ran.  Eight hours and forty miles later, he vaulted over a boulder, only to find a gully on the other side, rather than solid ground.  He fell to the bottom and there, finally, he stopped running from the pain he had been avoiding since the sun first rose on a world without his Meg.

Once again, Rory Williams came undone.  But this time, he had no one to anchor him.  No Pandorica to guard, no Doctor or Amy or Jack to bring him back, no Meg to keep him steady.  He was completely and utterly lost, and had no way to find his way back.

Deep in the night, as things slithered and crept around him, Idris came to him.  “Pretty,” she soothed.  “You are not lost.  We will always find you.  Just remember that.  Hold on to it.  You are loved.  Nothing will change that.”

There was a bright flash of golden light, and then she was gone.  He had no tears left to weep over her departure.  He was spent, still.

***

The day had begun, normally enough.  Rory had not joined the family for breakfast, but that happened, every now and again, when his grief made him wish for solitude.  In the evening, after dinner, Steve Rogers had called, checking in.  At the end of the call, he seemed hesitant, but Natasha had given him a nudge.  “How’s Rory?”

“He is well,” T’Challa said.  “Some days he keeps to himself.  This is such a day.”

Steve shifted uncomfortably.  “You may want to…  It’s Peggy’s birthday.  He may need some company.”

Okoye immediately headed for Rory’s quarters.  He had been getting better about seeking out company, when his grief became too much.  That he would isolate himself today concerned her.  She found his quarters empty and his tracking device sitting in a small pool of blood and cursed.

They had been able to track him by the occasional drop of blood for a few miles, but he had not bled for long.  Okoye and a few others continued to track him.  He had run heedlessly, recklessly.  He left a wide trail, but they had to be careful, in the dark.  They took to the air once they determined that the general direction in which he had run had remained unvaried, for several miles.

It was almost dawn when Okoye saw a flash of golden light and followed it.  She came to the spot she had seen it, but could not find its source, though she did find a faint heat signature.  She landed and very quickly found Rory, lying at the bottom of the gully, far too still.

“He is here!” she cried out.

***

Miraculously, Rory did not sustain any serious injuries during his flight, or his fall.  But Shuri was keeping him under close observation.  He had remained catatonic for several days.  They decided to administer the herb to him in a larger quantity, hoping it would anchor him in his journeying and help him find his way back.

Rory found himself in the gallery on the TARDIS, visiting his lost loved ones.  There had been many additions, over the years.  Colonel and Mrs. Phillips, Howard and Maria Stark, Edwin and Ana Jarvis, Canton Delaware and Ellis Jackson, and Tim and Angie Dugan all sat around a table, laughing and talking.  Now Meg had joined them at the table.  Everyone appeared here as they had been in their prime.  He couldn’t figure out why Phil wasn’t here, but he became occupied by the conversations going on around the table. 

“Our Peg is finally here!” Dugan exclaimed.  At Rory’s pained look, he said, “I know, Gramps, but this life you had with us was meant to be fairly self-contained.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ll reunite with your family, and you’ll stay friends with those still here, but you weren’t meant to have any ties to hold you here, once the paradox is broken.”

Rory nodded.  He sat down heavily beside Dugan, and Meg sat on his knee.  “What happened, Love?” she asked.

“Not sure.  I had this jolt, that I’d forgotten to get you a birthday present, and then I remembered…” he shrugged.  “And then I just lost it, for a bit.”

“I’m glad you’re not injured.”

“You know you’re going to have a babysitter all the time now, right?” Dugan grinned.

“Yeah.”

“It’s all right, Love.  Sometimes you need to come apart a little, so you can put yourself back together, a bit stronger.  You are _so strong_ , Rory.  The TARDIS once told me that it’s your ability to be vulnerable that gives you your strength.  You bend, so you don’t break.”

Rory nodded.  “You saying I’m bent, Love?” he grinned.

“In all the best ways,” she kissed his cheek.

He visited the others before wandering, for a bit.  As he’d hoped, Idris came to him.  “I cannot stay long, Pretty.”

“I know.  I just wanted to thank you.  I don’t know that they would have found me, without your help.”

Idris hugged him, then kissed his cheek.  “Not long now, Pretty.  It is quite the reunion.”

He chuckled as she disappeared in a golden shimmer.

***

When Rory woke, Natasha was by his bed, holding his hand.  Steve was pacing.  Clint was on the bed beside him, fletching arrows.  Okoye was in the far corner, standing vigil.  Seeing him awake, she slipped from the room.

“Jesus, Gramps,” Clint set aside his tools.  “What the hell happened?”

Rory tried to sit up and found that he was weak and sore.  Natasha helped him, then she nudged him over so he was sitting between her and Clint.  Steve sat on the bed at their feet.

“I forget how much doesn’t get passed down, from generation to generation,” he said wearily.  “The things that Dugan and Jarvis and Meg knew…  No one knows, anymore.”  He shook his head.  “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.  Tell us what’s going on,” Steve said.

“I think I told you, a long time ago, that I haven’t always stayed sane,” Rory said to Steve.

Steve nodded.

“That’s not to say I’m unstable,” he quickly added, feeling self-conscious.  “Not always, anyway.  But certain things…  I can lose the plot, a bit.”

“And Peggy’s birthday?” Natasha asked gently.

“It wasn’t her birthday, really,” Rory shook his head.  “It’s so ridiculous.  I had planned to have a quiet day, to not do too much, but to be around the others, a bit.  I wanted to honor it and…  So it’s not like I didn’t see it coming.  But I was getting dressed, and out of the blue I had this thought – damn it, I forgot to buy Meg’s birthday gift.”  He sighed.  “And then I remembered...  I’ll never buy her a birthday gift, again.  And then I completely lost my shit.”

“Little bit,” Clint agreed.  “But that doesn’t seem that strange, to me.”

“Thanks,” Rory said quietly.

“No, I mean it.  I can see where that would have caught you off guard.”

“T’Challa says you were journeying,” Steve said.

“I guess you could call it that,” Rory nodded.  He leaned back and rubbed his hands over his face. 

Natasha sat up and turned to get a better view of his face.  “This isn’t just about Peggy, is it?”

“I imagine the PTSD pushed me over the edge,” Rory hedged.  “But that’s just a guess.”

“And?”

Rory sighed.  “These years of the paradox.  They were meant to be one lifetime.  And in a lot of ways, they have been.  It doesn’t seem to be a coincidence that the oldest of my friends are all gone, now.  The ones who are left are young enough that we can keep in touch, but I wouldn’t need to stay behind when the paradox ends, to nurse anyone.”

“So for you, this is the end of this life?” Clint frowned.

“It sounds a bit melodramatic, when you say it like that,” Rory smiled sadly.

“And?” Natasha could see there was still more.

Rory rubbed the back of his neck.  “I have waited so long to see them again.  And when I do…”  He took a long, staggered breath.  “I’m not entirely sure they’ll even recognize me.”

“Gramps,” Steve frowned.  “How can you say that?”

“I’m not the same man that Meg found in that alleyway,” Rory shook his head sadly.  “Not after war, and the Howling Commandos, and SHIELD, and medical school, and seven PhDs, and Brian,” his voice cracked.

They didn’t say anything.  He assumed Tony had looked up Vostov after the attack and then relayed all of the information to the others.  “And what will Amy think of me marrying another woman for sixty-seven years?”  He sighed.  “And what will the Doctor think of me being a soldier?”

He held out his arms, showing his scars.  “And how do I tell them about _this_?  I can’t bear to think about it, much less talk about it, right now.”

Natasha reached over to the night table and helped him to drink more of the herbal mixture.  It calmed him before the panic attack could begin, in earnest.

“You want to know what I think?” Steve asked.  “I think they’d know you anywhere.  You got sent back because you were weak from having opened an artery to cause a paradox to save reality from those things.  The man who did that is still right here, with us.  A little bit crazy, a hell of a lot smarter than he gives himself credit for, funny as anything, and not one, but two hearts as big as the sky.”  He reached out and gripped Rory’s shoulder.  “They’d know you anywhere, Gramps.”

Rory nodded and wiped his eyes.  “Thanks.”  He looked up and saw T’Challa, Shuri, Ramonda and Okoye in the doorway.  “Hey.  Thank you for finding me.  I am sorry again for causing so much trouble.”

“It is nothing,” T’Challa said.

“It is we who owe you an apology,” Ramonda said, approaching the bed.  Natasha stood and Ramonda sat, taking Rory’s hand.  “You have endured so much, Rory.  And you have taken so much in stride that we forget just how great your burden is, right now.  Grief alone should warrant a more watchful eye, but that, combined with what that animal did to you, means we should have treated you so much more gently.”  She smiled as she felt him squirm.

“You have been everything that is kind and generous,” Rory protested gently.  “You are not responsible for my… defects.”

“They are _not_ defects!” Shuri bristled.  “You are meant to be a nurse.  How can you say that?”

“Because I have more history than any patient I ever treated,” Rory smiled good-naturedly. 

“Then you should have more patience, more compassion.  Not less,” she challenged. 

Rory saw Steve smiling at him.  “I see we really have left you in the best hands.”  He looked relieved.  “We can’t stay.  Clint’s not supposed to be away from the farm, and Nat and I need to meet up with Sam and Wanda to take down a guy who’s dealing in Chitauri weaponry.”

“But?” Rory said.

“But we need to know when to be back,” Steve said pointedly.  “I’m thinking two weeks out, so we can plan around this paradox that happens whenever you get too close to your timeline.”

“What?” Rory looked confused for a moment.  “I was just going to go to Cardiff that day,” Rory said.  “See current Jack.  Get a lift back to 2014.”

“But you said that you were concerned that Amy would try to follow you.  We’re not taking any chances, Gramps,” Clint said.

“Do you honestly think we won’t be there to take down that angel so you can be with your family again?” Steve grinned at the expression on Rory’s face. 

“I don’t know what to say,” Rory smiled at them.

“Say you will allow us to help you,” T’Challa said.  “But the Incoronation is October twenty-first.”  He smiled.  “I will be busy, that day.”

“You’ll be back in plenty of time,” Rory smiled.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lifted some dialogue from Captain America: Civil War. (Ross' speech, Clint's snark at the Raft, Tony's bit about putting Ross on hold if he calls...)
> 
> I never liked Sharon Carter, so she doesn't exist, here. I have (several) other ideas for Cap, now that he can move on from Peggy.
> 
> And clearly, I'm not a fan of Ross, either. Jackass. Go back and watch The Incredible Hulk again, and tell me I'm wrong... Secretary of State? Appalling.
> 
> I've added a four month period of mourning between King T'Chaka's death and T'Challa's Incoronation.


End file.
